


Forgotten Things (The Teeth of Time Remix)

by qwerty



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, afterdeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwerty/pseuds/qwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in eternity from a life that never was. Four things that were forgotten and one that won't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgotten Things (The Teeth of Time Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Interrobam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobam/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Memory Yields](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137508) by [Interrobam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobam/pseuds/Interrobam). 



**the sound of her wings**

Adam gave Pepper wings once - bright, small hummingbird ones, because she thought they were the prettiest, and she wanted to be able to fly like a hummingbird, up and down and any damn way she wanted. They beat and buzzed under her shirt, like she had trapped a bird in there, and, deciding she wanted to see them more than she cared about modesty, since the developing bumps on her chest were more annoying to her at the moment than they were visible to anyone else, she pulled off the shirt right there and tried to twist around to look at them.

The wings, once freed of the constricting material, grew and grew, and they all gathered around, Adam and Brian and Wensleydale, to see the strange new limbs that had erupted from the smooth curve of her back, fascinated. She twisted around as best as she could, but couldn't see more than feathers, and the tops and ends of the frantically beating wings. 

And she couldn't fly, though she flapped them as hard and fast as she could, buzzing like a gigantic Pepper-shaped bee, and finally gave up disgruntled. Adam took away the wings, and she put her shirt back on, and they did not speak of it again.

(The wings fit wrong, anyway - _those wings were not meant to look that way, they should be bigger, and white_ \- and there were no more experiments with making the Them develop in more interesting ways.

* * *

**doctor's orders**

"If I could study you..." the doctor said, frowning at the thermometer in a distracted way. "I need to take samples," he said, and the vaguely covetous look on his face reminded Adam of the lurid paperbacks with aliens and busty women that Wensleydale had taken to reading between poring over his heavy science books, except something about the way the doctor looked at Adam made him feel like he might be the busty woman on the cover of something with a title like _The Apocalypse Child_ , and just, NO.

"Young Adam's just fine," the doctor said at last, instead of "I could write a paper."

Adam's Dad squeezed Adam's shoulder in a kind of pained, unsatisfactory relief. "Really? What about hormone treatments, something..."

"No need for anything at all," the doctor said firmly. "He's perfect just the way he is."

* * *

**ships in the night**

Wensleydale volunteered for a time with Doctors Without Borders. It was very little like what he expected, from his studies, both more and less grim than the articles and reports suggested.

Maybe it was just that being there in the midst of things, living hour by hour and day by day, everything, beauty and horror, blended together in a muddy haze that dissipated when he closed his eyes to sleep.

It was familiar, this forgetfulness, in a sense, like he'd been through something similar and forgotten it the same way. The others envied him his peace of mind.

In the rare moments of restful peace, he listened to fantastical stories, both from other volunteers and the children he worked with, about a barefoot boy who played with wild beasts and was followed by a dog, an ordinary mutt, of all things. 

This, too, seemed like something he should know. But the stories blended into the haze with everything else, and when he went back to England, he worked hard to forget it all.

* * *

**the boy from ipanema**

Brian had what Wensleydale called a third-life crisis, by which he meant Brian met a boy while on a business trip in Rio and abandoned his job, and they ran away together for a while, spending several weeks on the beach swimming and feeding each other chips and tortillas and drinking caipirinhas because that was what one drank there, in addition to having a whole lot of unsafe sex.

Still, in between their beach activities, Brian and Juan took time to visit museums and joined a Carnival parade, and during one of the few quiet times when Juan was making Brian nervous by talking about marriage and adoption ("we're too young for this discussion," Brian was protesting), Brian saw a boy and a dog, and lost track of the conversation.

"You aren't listening to me at all," Juan said, eyes filling with tears.

"I am, I am, I do love you, Juan," Brian tried to soothe him, but the effect was ruined by the way he was twisting about trying to see where the boy had gone instead of looking Juan in the eyes. "I thought I saw someone I knew, I need to find," he started, and Juan burst into tears as Brian stumbled to his feet, still looking about.

Brian did not find anyone, or anydog, and he went home when Juan broke up with him.

* * *

Dog was Dog. Dog wanted very little - food, praise, hugs, walks, balls to chase, sticks to fetch, things to smell, squirrels and cats and all sorts of other animals to chase and then whine pitifully after when he lost them up a tree or into the distance. Adam provided all of these, and Dog was happy.

There were times, of course, when Dog would smell a bitch in heat, whimper at the thought of Pack, and Puppies, or he would smell something that should have been familiar that turned out strangely changed - other Dogs, People, whose smells went from milk, to flesh, to decay.

Especially the Them, the People who had been with Adam as long as Dog could remember. Dog thought, the Them should not change, just like Dog, and always stay with Adam, like Dog, but Dog was wrong. They changed. They went Away.

Still, as long as Dog still had Adam, Dog was content. Dog had food, praise, hugs, walks, balls to chase, sticks to fetch, things to smell, squirrels and cats and all sorts of other animals to chase and then whine pitifully after when he lost them up a tree or into the distance. It was enough for Dog.

But sometimes Adam would fade away, and Dog would be lost, whimpering at how strange, how fuzzy everything had become, the smells and sounds muted, his beloved constants no longer fixed. At such times, he would press close to Adam and whine, nose and lick at Adam's face and hands until Adam came back to himself and petted Dog, or if he did not respond immediately, Dog would bark, then nip, pull at him, at bits of Adam, fingers, his nose, until Adam was all himself again and the world solid and clear once more.

Dog was a good Dog. Dog had sharp teeth and a loyal heart. Dog would keep Adam Adam, as long as Adam needed him, and as long as Dog needed Adam.


End file.
